


Silver Secret

by raiyana



Series: The Reader Inserts [11]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dad!Dwalin, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf!Reader, F/M, Gen, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Secret Crush, Tumblr: ImaginexHobbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: You fell in love many years ago, shyly, with a golden-haired friend. He was a Prince among Dwarrow, even in Exile, and you took a long time to realise that he looked your way as often as you did him.When he gave you a necklace for your birthday - a gift made by his own hand, no less - you thought he wanted the same thing you did. A week later, you realised you had simply been deceiving yourself, when he broke off whatever small flirtation you had managed.But you kept the necklace; making it a symbol of remembrance, touching it every time your heart wanted to smile at him. You never told him, of course, keeping your distance as best you could...This is what happened when Fili learned the truth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Your name is Mjoll, and you have white hair. Mjoll means fresh snowfall. You're a warrior, about two years younger than Fíli, who was adopted many years ago by Dwalin who found you during a caravan job.
> 
> based on - imagine having broken up with Fíli a long time ago and then he catches you wearing something with special significance to both of you.  
> Due to overwhelming interest, this is being turned into a small story instead of a one-shot.

“Where is it?!” you cried, searching for the chain that had lived around your neck since the day you’d received the small present. Looking over the wide river, Kíli groaning something behind you while Fíli argued with Thorin, you wished for a small glitter of silver. Spotting the barrel you had used for your escape, you splashed back into the river, making the rest of the Company shout out in surprise.

“Thinking of sailing back to the Elves, Mjoll?” Nori asked, laughing when you threw a rude gesture at him over your shoulder, searching the barrel frantically. The chain wasn’t there! You stared at the water, calm here but the current still swift. Staring back towards the rapids you had barely survived, you could feel tears pressing, as you once more clutched at your bare neck. It was silly, perhaps, caring so much about a small trinket, but it wasn’t so much the small jade pendant as it was the sentiment attached to the gift. Fíli had given it to you, years ago, for your Nameday, back when you’d still believed he was as in love with you as he said. After the break-up, you hadn’t wanted him to know you still cared, and you’d lengthened the chain he had made, hiding the small pendant under your clothes, a constant presence nestled between your breasts. It was silly, you knew, but you had kept the gift anyway, as a reminder to your traitorously longing heart that the dwarf you loved did not want you.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Ori said, touching your shoulder and startling you out of contemplating the waters before you. You turned, brushing away the single tear that had escaped your eye. Ori was holding your chain, the small silver disc catching the sunlight as it spun slowly.

“Yes!” you cried, reaching for it. Ori smiled, clasping the chain back around your neck. “Thank you, Ori,” you gushed, leaning in to peck his cheek as your fingers wrapped around the familiar shape. Ori blushed fiercely.

“Err... you’re welcome, miss Mjoll.” He stuttered, fleeing. You followed him, splashing your way back to the bank, only to find yourself staring at the pointy end of an arrow. Your hand released your necklace, grasping for anything to use as a weapon. Someone gasped.

 

* * *

 

Fíli had seen it, as Mjoll stood defiantly before the bargeman. He recognised his own work instantly, the small silver disc, a motif of an eagle in flight above a mountain on one face and the other spelling _her_ name. Mjoll. _She had kept it? All this time?_ The memory of kissing her assaulted his mind; clasping the small gift around her neck as he stole a kiss from her lips on her Nameday. Obviously, she had, or she wouldn’t have had it now, Fíli thought, unable to keep from staring at her chest, as though his eyes could penetrate her shift and see the small trinket once more, making sure it was really _that_ necklace. But why had she kept it? It wasn’t like she’d ever loved him, why keep a token of their _affair_? As always, the word tasted sour on his tongue, trying to stop his heart from believing tht maybe – just _maybe_ – she had, in fact, loved him as she said she did. The romantic part of his mind wanted it to be true, while the ruthlessly logical part was quick to remind him that she certainly _hadn’t_ cared for him as more than a sweet little fling, throwing the image of her in the arms of some stranger against the part of him that wanted to soften. Fíli winced. He’d never discovered who the dwarf was that had stolen Mjoll’s heart, and in the five years that had passed since, he had not seen her walking out with anyone special on the few days where he bumped into her accidentally – nor on the slightly larger amount of days where he had been actively following her. He still remembered…

_“I’ll be back for you, raklûna **[1]**,” the dwarf had said, whispered against Mjoll’s pale hair, and Fíli could only hear him because they were standing two metres from the corner of the house, arms around each other as his heart broke._

_“I’ll miss you every day,” Mjoll swore. “Be safe, please. I love you.”_

_The dwarf had kissed her forehead. “I love you, too, Mjoll.” with that, he had left, and Fíli had stood frozen to the ground for a long time, watching her stare after the diminishing figure._

_It had taken him three days to stop feeling sick at the thought of speaking with her. On the fourth day, he’d gone to her house and broken off the affair._

Fíli had no interest in being some sordid little affair, he told himself viciously, every time he had caught sight of her smiling at one of the Company and wished that she would smile so sweetly at him. Mjoll tended to ignore his presence, which had suited him quite well so far, speaking to him only of inconsequential things like ‘Did you water the ponies?’ or ‘Would you get some firewood?’.

 

* * *

 

You woke feeling someone’s hands pulling at the chain that disappeared under your borrowed dress. Bard had been scandalized to find that you were a woman – the binder for your breasts had been entirely waterlogged, and there was no hiding your bosom in nothing but a shift – but he had managed to find a dress that fit reasonably among his late wife’s, even if it was a foot and a half too long. In a couple of quick moves, you had the attacker beneath you, an eating knife pressed against his jugular. A braid whispered across the back of your hand.

“Fíli!?” you shrieked, incredulous, as Nori – the lightest sleeper, by far – lit a candle in response to the ruckus. Pinned beneath you was the furiously red-faced Heir of Thorin Oakenshield. “What in the name of Mahal and the seven Fathers did you think you were doing?” you hissed, stung by this unprovoked attack. “I’m not some camp-follower or something!”

“No, no!” Fíli tried, but you were in no mood to listen to excuses.

“Nori, would you go wake the King for me, please?” you asked sweetly. “I’d like to lodge a complaint against Fíli, son of Víli, for assaulting me in my sleep.” By now, half the Company was awake to hear your words, and Fíli’s blush was intensifying.

“What in the name of Durin is going on here?!” Thorin hollered, seeing his heir pinned beneath your furious form.

“I woke to find Fíli, son of Víli with his hands on their way into my dress,” you replied evenly, gesturing to the undone laces that did very little to conceal your ample chest. “Needless to say, it was not a welcomed advance in any way.” Getting up, you moved over to stand beside Dwalin, who wrapped his arm around your shoulder. The warrior had found you as an orphaned dwarfling and raised you like a daughter; Dwalin had taught you everything you knew about fighting. Balin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, squeezing you between the two Fundinuls, as Dori moved in to put your dress to rights, clucking his tongue. Thorin stood frozen, as Fíli stared up at him from the floor. No one spoke.

“I believed we raised you better than this,” Thorin said, his voice so cold it made you shiver. “I believed you were worthy of trust, believed that we had taught you to care for those under your command and protection.” You winced, as Fíli did on the floor beneath his Uncle’s gaze. Your fury was waning slightly as you watched Thorin tear every possible strip from Fíli’s hide.

“I swear, Uncle, I didn’t mean to-” Fíli tried again, getting to his feet.

“Didn’t mean to assault a dam as she slept, as she was under MY protection?!” Thorin roared. “Or perhaps you simply didn’t mean to get caught, thinking your status as my heir would let you get away with whatever you wanted?”

“Why did you do it, Fíli?” you asked, feeling so small. This, this was the final piece of evidence that he had spoken truly when he claimed not to have loved you, you thought, wishing that you could simply disappear. “Why?” you repeated, when he turned to face you, his usually bright eyes shadowed.

“I needed…” he trailed off, looking physically hurt by the way you flinched away from him. “I needed to see.”

“Disgusting,” Thorin spat.

“No!” Fíli shouted. “Not, not _that_! I needed to see if I saw what I saw earlier,” he continued, which made about as much sense as a comb without teeth, you thought. Once again, he reached towards you, uncaring that Dwalin was growling low in his throat. “Why did you… _keep_ it?” he asked, looking like you were the one torturing _him_. Suddenly, your fury returned tenfold. Wrapping your hand around the pendant that hung down, the chain revealed by your undone neckline, you tugged sharply, breaking the thin chain.

“This is what you wanted?” you asked, incredulous. “You piece of scum.” You seethed, throwing the broken piece of jewellery at him. Fíli caught it deftly, staring at the small token. “Take it, then,” you cried, “take it and _never_ speak to me _ever_ again!” Furiously, you whirled, leaving Balin’s protective hold and making your way out of the house.

 

* * *

 

“Do you wish to explain that little display?” Thorin asked, his voice still as frosty as midwinter.

“I made this,” Fíli replied woodenly, staring in the direction Mjoll had vanished, his fingers wrapped tightly around the silver necklace she had thrown at him. “I gave it to her, years ago. I thought she threw it away, but she… she _kept_ it? I just... I wanted to know _why_.” Thorin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You assaulted a dam – committed a _crime_ – to find out why a girl kept a silly piece of silver?!” he roared. 2I can’t even –” Thorin shook his head. “I’ll deal with you in the morning. I’m tempted to send you back to your amad in a fish barrel right now!” Fíli nodded meekly. He could admit that he should have gone about finding answers in a different way. He didn’t even ty to avoid the punch Dwalin aimed at his stomach, knowing he deserved worse. Under their laws, he ought to face a harder punishment than a punch from an enraged father-figure.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Will you tell Mjoll… I’m sorry, for all of it.” Dwalin just snorted, turning on his heel to march out of the house, probably following the wayward dam.

 

* * *

 

“Want to tell me what happened?” Dwalin asked quietly, sitting down on the cold boards of the walkway beside you and wrapping a warm arm around your shoulders, turning your face into his chest when you began to weep quietly.

“Fíli gave it to me for my Nameday, just before Jofur left,” you whispered. “along with a kiss. It wasn’t a promise, he said, even if he’d like it to be.” You hiccupped a slight sob. “He broke it off with me a week later, just after Jofur left Thorinuldûm.” You sighed, “I don’t even know why I kept it, clearly he never felt anything for me.” Dwalin rumbled a soothing growly sound – he wasn’t good with words of comfort, but he managed to convey his sympathy anyway. “I thought… for a long time I thought he loved me as I loved him, Adad, really loved him.” Dwalin didn’t say anything, letting you make up your mind. “I feel stupid.”

* * *

 

“I always loved her,” Fíli admitted, when Kíli took up where Uncle had left off as soon as the two brothers entered the room they’d been given to share by the Master.

“WHAT?” the dark-haired prince said. Fíli laughed – a sound that was almost sobs.

“I made her that necklace because I loved her.”

“ _YOU_ were the one who broke up with her, Fíli!” Kíli cried, aghast. Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Kíli sank down onto his musty bed.

“Because _she_ had someone else!” Fíli cried, just as hotly.

“Are you daft, nadad?” Kíli asked, poleaxed. “Mjoll only ever looked at you… just as you only looked at her. Amad has been planning you wedding for the last 20 years almost!”

“That’s not true, Kíli” Fíli replied tiredly, “I heard her tell him she loved him with my own ears.”

“Wait, tell who?”

“I don’t know!” Fíli cried, exasperated. “I couldn’t really walk up in the middle of ‘I’ll miss you every day’ and ‘I love you, too, Mjoll’ and ask who the dwarf was, could I?!” Slumping onto his own dusty mattress, Fíli continued, “I saved up the silver all through my summer guarding caravans for Glóin, giving it to her as soon as I returned home in autumn. It wasn’t even a week later I overheard her promising her love to this stranger!”

“I’d wondered why you never told me you’d broken up, actually,” Kíli said. “Wait, this was five years ago, no?” Fíli nodded, falling back onto his pillow. “But… Fíli that was the summer her older brother found Mjoll in Thorinuldûm… you know, Jofur? The brother who’d gotten separated from her, when she was little more than a pebble and Jofur got arrested for stealing food for her…” As Kíli spoke, Fíli’s face grew paler. “Jofur left in the autumn, going on a caravan job to the south; Harad or something… none of them were ever heard from again,” Kíli finished quietly.

“Oh, Mahal,” Fíli groaned. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes,” Kíli agreed evenly, “I think you’d be hard-pressed to find someone to disagree with that tonight, and even harder if you tell them you broke up with the dam of your dreams because she loves her brother. And then you assaulted her trying to find an old gift… yes, brother, you are an idiot.”

“Thank you,” Fíli replied drily. “Now help me come up with a way to fix it!”

“No idea. Repair her necklace, maybe. Oh, and grovel. Amad would say that you should grovel. Like on-your-belly grovel.” Kíli said, far too gleefully for Fíli’s taste. Covering his eyes with a groan, the older dwarf fell back on his musty pillow, nearly suffocating in the resultant cloud of dust. When he was done coughing, eyes red and streaming, Fíli picked up the small necklace he had so carefully shaped. The clasp – probably weakened from the strain of their river-journey, he thought, scrutinizing the break Mjoll had made when she yanked on the chain. If there were some pliers somewhere in this dump, he could fix it easily, wishing he could fix his other blunders as swiftly, but fearing it would be anything but simple to win himself a place in her affections again. Mjoll was different now than she had been five years ago; harder, somehow, and with Kíli's story in mind he could see why she had changed.

 

 

[1] Precious one


	2. Chapter 2

“Mjoll?” Fíli’s voice was quiet, but you stiffened anyway, an ember of fury lighting in your gut. _Had you not told him never to speak to you again?!_ Beside you, Ori squeaked, making to get up and go elsewhere, but your powerful grip on his thigh stopped him from leaving the bargeman’s table where you’d been mending a few articles of torn clothing. On the other side of the table, Dori looked up with a glare. Behind you, Fíli sighed. “Look, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness but I’m sorry, I really am… sorry.” You did not look up, did not acknowledge his words, ignored him completely. Once, you’d thought you knew what was in his heart, but obviously you’d been mistaken, and now… you thought you might break if you had to look at him. Firmly telling yourself that you did not love him one bit had done little to change the heart that had stubbornly belonged to him since you were old enough to understand the meaning of love – even the past five years of careful distance had not changed your mind, had done nothing to stop the way your heart beat a little faster when you saw the sunlight catching in his golden hair, _knowing_ how softly the strands would glide through your fingers.

“I think, Prince Fíli,” Dori’s voice was frosty, and you suddenly realised that without knowing how, you’d come under the same maternal aegis of protection as Ori. It made you feel warm; Dwalin had found you as a small dwarfling, begging for food after Jofur had been taken away by the bad men, but he was single, so you’d never had a real amad, even if Dwalin was the best adad a little girl could want. “- best get you gone now. Mjoll was quite clear that she did not wish to speak with you anytime soon.” You’d missed some of Dori’s tirade, though you caught sight of Dwalin nodding silently over the tailor’s shoulder. Smiling gratefully at Dori, you returned your focus to the stitches you were making in Dwalin’s undershirt, wondering how he’d managed to burst the especially reinforced shoulder seams you’d made before the Quest began. Not many knew it, but Dwalin couldn’t sew to save his life, and he’d made sure you were taught – Balin had some skill with a needle, but it had been the Dowager Queen Frís who had shown you how to work thread and cloth together to make durable clothes – all the skills he didn’t know, though he had personally trained you in every weapon imaginable, turning you into one of the best warriors in Thorinuldûm. You heard Fíli’s steps shuffling behind you, but he didn’t say anything else, and eventually peace was restored.

 

“She won’t even acknowledge my existence,” Fíli whined. Beside him, Kíli was looking feverish – Thorin had demanded he go to bed until he was doing better – but he sighed anyway.

“Did you apologise?” he asked hoarsely.

“I tried to, but she wouldn’t hear me!” Fíli cried. “Dori made me leave. Mahal, Kee, what if she _never_ speaks to me again?” he groaned, hiding his head in his hands. “Mjoll wouldn’t even look at me…”

“If at first you don’t succeed…” he began, nudging Fíli when his older brother didn’t continue Amadel’s favourite response every time they’d come home complaining that something was too hard. Fíli sighed, giving his brother a tortured look.

“Try, try again.” Fíli drawled. Kíli nodded.

“She’s _Mjoll_ , Fee, did you really think she wouldn’t put up a fight?” the archer added, slightly condescending in Fíli’s opinion. He scowled, but Kíli just kept looking at him like _Fíli_ was the daft one. Playing with the small pendant on its chain brought him no answers, catching the light of the setting sun as the silver disc spun in the air, the small jade mountain with its silver snow and the stylized eagle in flight nearly coming alive; the runes of her name standing out starkly every time that side caught the low light.

 

Kíli should not have gone inside the armoury, you thought, looking at him. His brow was beading with sweat, though he was carrying less than the weight of his pack. You gave the bandage a suspicious look – was the wound worse than you had thought? Clearly Thorin’s mind followed the train of yours, stopping Kíli as he was about to hand his nephew another sword.

“You all right?” he asked, frowning. Kíli nodded, but you were not convinced, moving to offer your help.

“I can manage. Let’s just get out of here.” Kíli said harshly, which was unlike him. Frowning, you watched him turn before you could reach him and make for the stairs. You watched it happen in slow-motion, as though time itself had slowed to the consistency of treacle, watched his leg buckle beneath him, the weapons flying from his grip as he uttered a pained cry; the sound nearly drowned out by the loud clanging of metal striking metal and wood as the weapons continue to fall, hitting every step with a sound that made you wince.

“Run!” Dori gasped out, but you had no time to do so, had no means of fighting your way past the well-armoured guards who levelled pikes and spears at you. One of them had grabbed Kíli, holding a blade to his throat. Thorin growled.

 

For a moment, you thought all was lost, as you were being dragged before the Master of this pitiful town. You had travelled with caravans, and you’d thought you’d seen Men brought low, but this town was one of the worst you had ever seen, the hollow-cheeked faces that stared at you only confirming what you had already thought; Bard using your money to buy fish was an act of desperation; not for your sake, but for the people of the town, who obviously did not have enough to feed themselves well. You had wondered at the time, why Alfrid didn’t ask him how he’d paid for the fish, but you’d waved it off as minor oddity; now you were beginning to think he had only objected to be seen to object, a thought reinforced by the sheer theatricality of the scene before you; the fat Master of Laketown trying to appear grand, but falling far short of the mark. Haughtily, you smirked; Thorin was far more dignified, even standing before the Men with little more than the clothes on his back and a head filled with dreams of a better future to offer them. You smiled. Your King knew what it was to starve, and you felt proud to be one of his subjects, watching him masterfully play the crowd.

 

You sat quietly throughout the party, watching from the shadows as Bofur taught some of the Lakemen a merry jig. Kíli pretended to be unaffected, but you could see the strain in him, caught the way his mug of ale wasn’t refilled a single time throughout the night. Beside him, Fíli sat, the sight of him in the light of the candles enough to make your blood heat – you squashed the thought ruthlessly, blaming the weak thing these Men called ale and went to find Dwalin, engaging him in a spirited retelling of your battle with the Goblins that made quite a lot of the women gasp with awe, staring at his bulging muscles. Spending the night with merry laughter and story-telling might not fit your mood, but it was better than pining for your prince and catching yourself feeling for the familiar weight of your necklace. As you tried to sleep, you wonder what had happened to it, whether Fíli had already thrown it away or not.

 

In the morning, you’d been dressed in armour; it was ill-fitting, but better than mere cloth you told yourself, striding along beside Dwalin towards the docks, where you’d been told you would find a boat to sail across the Long Lake. The Master generously gifted you supplies to reach the Mountain, though you were certain he did so only because the townsfolk favoured you; an attempt at winning their goodwill, nothing more. A few musicians attempted to liven up the chilly autumn morning, but you did not feel cheered, worried about the pale face of Kíli, who seemed worse than the day before.

“You do know we’re one short,” Bilbo piped up suddenly, looking around in alarm, “where’s Bofur?” You hadn’t even realized he was missing, too worried about Kíli, whose night of rest seemed to have done little good.

“If he’s not here, we leave him behind.” Thorin replied, his eyes turned toward the lonely peak that seemed at once so close and impossibly far away. For a moment, Bilbo looked angry – an incongruent expression on his face, you mused – before both your attentions were stolen by Balin.

“We have to, if we’re to find the door before Durin’s Day. We can risk no more delays.” That was putting it bluntly, you knew, though he was indubitably right – Balin usually was. Still, it sat ill with you to think of leaving a member of the Company behind, opening your mouth to offer to run back and look for Bofur – perhaps he was still passed out drunk? Dwalin’s arm around your shoulder made the words stick in your throat, as he easily lifted you onto the boat, swiftly following along. You’d been on boats before, but it hadn’t happened often; for a moment, all your focus was spent on keeping your balance as you moved to the front end; Bombur would have to sit in the middle, the fishermen had decreed, to ensure the boat did not tip over.

“Not you. We must travel with speed, you will slow us down.” At first, the words did not register, but when you looked back, you saw Thorin’s hand on Kíli’s shoulder, gaping as you realized he was serious; Kíli swayed a little. Concern lurked in Thorin’s blue eyes, though you did not think Kíli saw it; he was grinning as though Thorin was joking.

“What are you talking about?” he objected, “I’m coming with you.” Staring at the two dark heads, you already knew Thorin would not find the words to convey what was in his heart, would not phrase his command in a way that conveyed his deep concern. Growing up close to the princes, you had heard more than one account of Thorin’s wooden and stiff wording hurting feelings when he meant to be soothing; you saw it happening before your eyes in that very moment. At the other end of the boat, Fíli had turned around too, his shoulders stiff as he waited for Thorin’s verdict.

“No.” Just that; simple denial. You gaped; even for Thorin, that was harsh.

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened,” Kíli assured him, “when we first look upon the halls of our fathers,” but Thorin was not swayed, not even by his name turned into a fervent plea, “Thorin…”

“Kili, stay here. Rest,” Thorin tried, but you knew Kíli wasn’t listening; this moment was the one the both of them had dreamed of for so long, you knew. Around you, the Company were silent. Thorin offered some comfort, though it fell on deaf ears, “Join us when you’re healed.” No one spoke as Thorin stepped onto the boat, but then Óin scrambled off, coming to stand near Kíli.

“I’ll stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded.” He tried to examine the prince, but Kíli would have none of it, staring after Thorin with an expression of abject betrayal on his face.

“Uncle, we grew up on tales of the mountain.” Fíli tried to object, but even he knew it would be pointless, you knew, seeing the glance he shot his brother. “Tales _you_ told us. You can’t take that away from him!”

“Fili.” Thorin’s voice was hard, but clear; this was the King’s will, and it would be done, you knew, no matter how it made your heart bleed to see Kíli so defeated.

“I will carry him, if I must!” Fíli cried, but Thorin was implacable. Dwalin’s hand found your arm, squeezing lightly. You looked up at him, knowing he’d read the sadness in your eyes.

“One day you will be king,” Thorin sighed, “and you will understand. I cannot risk the fate of this quest for the sake of one dwarf, not even my own kin.” Fíli simply stared at him, horrified. Looking back at Kíli, he suddenly stepped off the boat, throwing off Thorin’s restraining arm.

“Fili, don’t be a fool.” Thorin demanded. You wished for someone to give you the power to turn back time, to make him see what his words were doing. “You belong with the Company.”

“I belong with my brother.” Fíli didn’t look back at his uncle once, simply taking his place beside Kíli. For a moment, you tried to join them, but Dwalin’s hand pulled you back down as the boat was pushed away from the dock.

Musicians were playing, and the Master was making some sort of speech, but you could only stare in silence as the three Dwarrow on the quay were joined by a panting Bofur, while the Men around you cheered your departure. “...Bring good fortune to all!” You caught the last words from the Master, joining the Company in waving at the Men as the boat picked up speed, but in your chest your heart was torn. This wasn’t right. With effort, you pretended not to notice the way Fíli’s eyes were burning his gaze into your soul, keeping your attention on Kíli. Just as you turned a corner, the crowd blocking your view, Kíli’s leg buckled. You gasped, but there was nothing you could do; the Lakemen getting smaller as you sailed out onto the Long Lake.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The Dragon was gone. Staring across the landscape from the broken ramparts, you watched him fly towards Laketown. In your mind, only one thought kept repeating: _Fíli is down there!_

You didn’t even realise how tightly you were gripping your axe until Dwalin’s large fist wrapped around yours, squeezing lightly.

“Come away, lass,” he asked, “there’s nothing we can do from here.” _Fíli is down there!_

“We can watch, adad,” you whispered back, hearing him sigh and relaxing into the arm he wrapped around your shoulders. “We can only watch…” _Fíli is down there!_

“Aye, Mjoll, we will watch.” Dwalin was hoarse, his voice thick with unshed tears and you knew he was thinking the same thing you were, wondering if your loved ones were burning in dragon-fire at that very moment as you watched Smaug deliver another stream of flames across the wooden structures. You didn’t look to see, feeling Ori’s hand take yours when you lost the grip on your weapon, you simply stared at the inferno enveloping the town. _Fíli’s down there!_

“Fíli…” you weren’t even aware you’d spoken his name, but Dwalin’s arm tightened around you.

“I know, lass, I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. You both ignored the tears that were trailing down your cheeks. _Fíli is down there!_

 

You didn’t realise you’d lost yourself watching the orange flickers until the sound hit you; a deep sound, with no clear origin except the burning Lake. Everyone jumped, straining their eyes.

“What was that?” Balin exclaimed.

“It fell. I saw it.” Bilbo sounded stunned, and for a moment you shook your head in disbelief, searching for a glimpse of the massive shadow among the brightness of the flames. “It’s dead. Smaug is dead!” Bilbo cried out, but your heart felt no lighter. Fíli was still down there – Kíli, too, of course, and Óin and, oh, Maker, poor jovial Bofur with his stupid hat. Turning around, you buried your face in Dwalin’s shoulder sobbing in silence while around you, voices rose in joy.

“By my beard!” Glóin swore, “I think he’s right! Look! There! The ravens of Erebor are returning to the mountain!” You brushed past them, heading back inside where you just caught sight of Thorin’s back as he turned a corner.

 

* * *

 

You pawed listlessly at the treasure, coins slipping beneath your weight. Your tears had dried, but you were left with a hollow sensation sucking at your chest that you feared would never dissipate. They all had to be dead; there was no way they could have survived, you were sure of it, not even daring to hope. Fíli’s face kept replaying in your mind, blocking out the sight of the gold; staring at Thorin in a rare act of defiance as you’d last seen him, looking at you on the night he’d tried to steal your necklace, even a few brief memories of the way he had looked on the day he gave it to you, all bright smiles and happiness. You still missed the familiar weight nestled between your breasts, eschewing the pleasure of decking yourself out in gold and jewels like the rest of them had been so keen to do in the first few days since the destruction of Laketown.

Thorin looked like a proper King, now, the Raven Crown on his brow and heavy furs on his shoulders, but you wondered if he was feeling the same chill that seemed to linger in your flesh, the chill of death. Did he feel responsible for the deaths of Fíli and Kíli, of Bofur and Óin? He had barely spoken to any of you, and you could see the strain of worry in Balin’s eyes, the tightness in Dwalin’s shoulders.

 

* * *

 

Keeping your head down and your eyes fixed on the treasure was the only way to avoid a tongue-lashing, you found. Thorin wanted the Arkenstone found – understandable – but you could barely focus on whether the object in your hand was a goblet or a coin, let alone find it in yourself to care about the bloody Arkenstone. There were no heirs left to pass it to, anyway, what did it matter if it took _years_ to find the thing?

 

At night, you would curl up in your bedroll, lie next to Dwalin and you knew you were both awake, though neither of you spoke. Dwalin was worried about Thorin, you knew, worried about your King who wasn’t sleeping at all – at least, he had stopped coming to bed with the rest of you – and your head was nothing but a wasteland of grief. You heard yourself call him scum, heard yourself shout accusations at him, which – while valid – now seemed to insignificant compared to never seeing him again, never watching the way his lips curled into a dimpled smile. The lie you had told yourself for five years was now utterly exposed for what it was: a screen of smoke to hide behind.

 

* * *

 

Today, Thorin was mumbling to himself, crooning something you didn’t pay attention to as you stared at the glitter before you. It paled in comparison with lazy spring afternoons in Ered Luin, watching sunlight glimmer in Fíli’s hair, sparring with the lads and having fun. You wondered how you would ever be able to face Dís again, worried that this loss would finally break her.

“Gold - Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow and grief.” Was it, you wondered, or did he simply need to tell himself that, to live with the guilt of knowing he had caused the death of those whom he most sought to protect. You didn’t look up, didn’t want to see that strange light in his eyes. “Behold - the great treasure hoard of Thrór.” You’d been doing little else, lately, though you hadn’t minded, feeling no desire to explore things without Kíli scampering along, without Fíli there to worry about your safety and rein in his rambunctiousness. “Welcome, my sister’s sons,” Thorin paused, but as the words registered you straightened, suddenly filled with desperate hope, “to the kingdom of EREBOR.”

You stared. They were all… _here_. Travel-worn and stained, but they were _here_ , you realized, a small giggle bubbling up as you traced the shape of Bofur’s hat, caught sight of Óin’s hearing horn, of Kíli’s curls, saw the way Fíli’s carefully braided moustache looked even more golden than usual.

“Mahal…” you croaked; the first words you’d spoken in days. You didn’t actively decide to run, simply found yourself sliding and slipping on the gold piles as you moved towards the stairs, blind and deaf to the joyous cries behind you. Fíli looked apprehensive – with good reason, you thought, anger burning hot and heavy in your breast. The punch was masterful, taking him by complete surprise as you socked him in the jaw.

“Mjoll?!” he cried out, when you gripped the front of his clothes, hauling him back up.

“That’s for sneaking into my dress when I slept, you utter _moron!_ ” you shrieked, before pulling him close. You vaguely noted that Kíli and Bofur were backing away, while Fíli was holding up his hands as if to push you back. The kiss was sweeter than breathing, though Fíli was equally surprised as you slanted your lips across his, even if he rallied to return the pressure, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. “That’s for not being dead,” you breathed against his mouth, “you utter _moron._ ” Pushing him away again, you turned on your heel, walking off at a fast clip and ignoring Fíli’s confused calls of your name.

Collapsing into your bedroll, you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

 

* * *

 

“Mjoll?!” Fíli asked, staring up at the enraged dwarrowdam who’d just managed to knock him off his feet. Rubbing his sore jaw, he gasped when she used her grip on his clothes to haul him back to a standing position. Mjoll was breathing hard, fury clear in her eyes.

“That’s for sneaking into my dress when I slept, you utter _moron!_ ” she shrieked, hurting his ears. Kíli was backing away slowly, holding up his hands as though to ward her off, and Fíli wanted to grip her shoulders, still her rage somehow – he had probably earned more than a sore jaw after all – but all thoughts seemed to flee his mind; every ounce of focus glued to the feel of her lips against his. It had been five years, but he remembered the feel of her, eagerly kissing her back, his confusion banished for the moment as he lost himself in her sweetness. Her lips were slightly chapped, and it was maybe a little rough and unrefined, but it was still the best kiss he’d ever had. “That’s for not being dead,” she breathed against his mouth, “you utter _moron._ ” When she tore herself away from him, Fíli realised that he had been holding her, feeling her soft beard under his fingertips.

“Mjoll!” he cried out after her, but Dwalin’s strong arm stopped him before he could follow.

“Let her be, for now, lad,” he rumbled, and then Fíli found himself wrapped in those strong arms – for a moment he remembered being a Dwarfling again – as the rest of the Company surged around them, crying out in welcome.

 

 

“She really does pack a punch, my lassie,” Dwalin murmured later, looking at Fíli’s nicely bruised jaw. Kíli chuckled. The prince scowled. “None o’ that now, lad, we both know you deserved it for being a wee pillock.” Dwalin admonished, busying himself with filling a towel with smooth round river-stones the size of Fíli’s thumbnail. Fíli’s glare shifted to Kíli, who held up his hands in protest.

“I didn’t tell him anything!”

“Didn’t have to, did he?” Dwalin chided. “I’ve eyes in my head, lad, and you’ve always watched her; even when you pretended not to these past five years – which I’m still yet to hear an explanation for, by the way.”

“Basically,” Kíli began, agilely dodging Fíli’s swipe. Dwalin pressed him back into his chair, the towel filled with stones chilled in the River Running making Fíli hiss when the warrior pressed it against his jaw. “Fíli was an idiot and did seek out all the facts before stabbing himself in the foot.” Kíli returned Fíli’s glare with a smirk. Dwalin frowned.

“Elaborate,” he gestured. Fíli sighed.

“Kíli’s not wrong,” he admitted, “I overheard Mjoll saying goodbye to Jofur; only I didn’t know it was her _brother_ she was claiming to love… I just thought she’d fallen in love with someone else while I was gone.”

“Much as it pains me, Kíli’s got the right of it, Fíli,” Dwalin sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “You are a wee eejit.”

“I don’t know how to fix it!” Fíli cried. “She won’t talk to me, not after Laketown. She wouldn’t even look at me when I tried to apologise for that.”

“Aye, well,” Dwalin hummed, giving Fíli a stern look. “That was before you returned from the dead, no?” Fíli winced. “We all grieved for you, lads,” Dwalin admitted, wrapping his free arm around Kíli in a tight hug, “but Mjoll… if you ever hurt her like this again, I _will_ personally kick you all the way to the Halls of Waiting, we clear?”

“Yes, Uncle,” Fíli swore, throwing a subdued glance at Dwalin.

“Good. Then I give my formal permission for you to court my daughter, Mjoll, Fíli, son of Víli.” Dwalin left the room. Fíli stared after his broad back.

“Well, he’s less angry, at least,” Kíli teased. “Now you just have to woo back your ladylove.”

Fíli threw a pillow at him. Kíli fled, shrieking with laughter, but Fíli found a small smile stretching his lips. He fell asleep thinking about the kiss she’d given him.

He would speak to her in the morning; force her to hear him if he had to.

 


	4. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years ago...

### Pt 4 flashback

_“Jo-Jofur?” you asked, staring at the stranger who was standing by the baker’s cart, flirting with Geilie. You hadn’t seen him in more than 60 years, but the pure white hair you shared with your late amad – Jofur said so anyway, you remembered – was unmistakable when paired with the pale jade green eyes of your late adad. The dwarf whirled, mid-reply, to stare at you._

_“Mjoll!” Dwalin called, making you turn your head. “There you are, lass, what’s with the dawdling today?” he exclaimed, wrapping his big arm around you. “We’ve ter be getting on if we’s to be done by supper.” You had an appointment with Master Dori, who was going to make you a new frock for the Yule Ball in a few months; you were hoping Fíli would ask you to dance, the thought making you blush._

_“Jofur…” you repeated, interrupting Dwalin’s admonishments, pointing at the dwarf by the baker’s who was still staring at you._

_“…Mjoll,” he breathed, and then he was running towards you, wrapping his arms around you as he laughed._

_“This is your Jofur then, lassie?” Dwalin rumbled behind you. Turning around, you nodded, beaming at him. Dwalin smiled; he knew how much it meant to you to know that your brother was alive. “Dwalin Fundinul,” Dwalin continued, holding out his hand. Jofur shook it warily, darting glances between Dwalin’s obviously good-quality clothing and the Line of Durin bead in your hair. He frowned._

_“You are married?!” he cried, staring wildly between the two of you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Dwalin’s loud guffaws rung across the cobbles. Your own laugh joined him._

_“No, nadad,” you smiled. “This is my Adad, Dwalin. He found me after you’d been taken away by those Men…” Dwalin’s large arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging on your Durin-bead. Thorin had made it many years ago, when Dwalin decided to ask you to be his kin officially. Jofur looked a little stunned._

_“Why don’t you come along,” Dwalin offered, “Princess here has a meeting with the tailor to get through, but I’m sure we can find a way to pass the time until supper. You’re welcome to come along.”_

_“Adad,” you chided, but it was fond mocking, “you’re just trying to wiggle out of Master Dori holding up fabric samples against your face.”_

_“I don’t see why I hafta suffer twice,” Dwalin bickered good-naturedly, “Dís is just going to do it all over again in a few months for the yearly fittings!” The Yearly Fittings – in Both Thorin and Dwalin’s minds deserving of capitalization – was the day during early winter when Dís forced both Dwalin and Thorin through ‘Excruciating Humiliation’ – Dwalin’s words – in order to ensure that they both looked the part of royals during official appearances. Fíli had luckily inherited his amad’s sense of style – and you actually enjoyed talking about clothes with Master Dori – and Kíli usually managed to show up at the tailoring shop along with his older brother to go over fabrics and designs without needing Dís’ input. Thorin – and Dwalin – however, were decidedly **not** fashionable, and the Yearly Fittings had been a Thing ever since you could remember living with Dwalin. Secretly, you thought Dwalin enjoyed being fussed at, but the one time you’d aired that opinion, you’d been sworn to secrecy with such vehemence that you didn’t dare repeat the thought aloud. _

_“Maybe you’d learn!” you returned, opening the door to Dori’s shop with a tinkle of bells that always made you smile; the bells were some of the first things you had made on your own, even if your Craft was armour-smithing like your late adad._

_Jofur joined you for supper at Balin’s that night, slowly relaxing among your new family. He’d been in the Iron Hills for years, learning the warrior’s trade, and it was simple chance that he’d decided to take a job guarding a caravan heading to Ered Luin._

_“I’d believed you dead years ago,” he murmured later, as you sat side by side on Balin’s front stoop, sharing one of the pastries he’d all but forgotten he’d bought that afternoon. “I went back to look for you when I was released, but it had been several years since I was carted off, and no one remembered anything about you…” he swallowed heavily, “But here you are; kinsman to Royals no less… I’m glad for you, little sister.”_

_“Dwalin and Uncle Balin have been good to me,” you nodded. “I’ve learned so much from both of them.”_

_You spent a few weeks running around with each other; Jofur’s return overshadowed even your excitement that Fíli would soon be home from his summer of guarding Glóin’s traders. Even Kíli liked him, and Kíli rarely liked people until he’d known them for years._

_Fíli returned just in time for your Name-Day, though he only had time to drop off your present and steal a kiss before he had to leave again, going to the northern end of the range for diplomatic meetings with Thorin._

_“I’ve got a job, sister!” Jofur exclaimed happily, running up to where you were beating one of the carpets._

_“Oh?” you asked, hoping he would stay; at least until Fíli returned. You hadn’t told anyone about your present – or your kiss – wanting to introduce Fíli to the only other family you had left before doing anything that could be considered official._

_“I’m going to Harad!” Jofur was excited, but your stomach dropped. Harad was across the world; a dangerous journey by any criterium._

_“I thought you wanted to look for work here?” you said, frowning. Dwalin had spoken of offering Jofur a place in the Guard, giving him a chance to spend more time with you._

_“The Guard would still be here when I returned,” Jofur smiled, “and this job pays really well. Promise you’re not mad?” You just shook your head in disbelief; you’d only just gotten him back, and already he wanted to leave?!_

_“I’m not mad,” you croaked, “but promise me you’ll come back.”_

_“I’ll be back for you, raklûna **[1]**,” Jofur whispered against your hair when it was the day of his departure, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a firm hug. You put your arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight in return._

_“I’ll miss you every day,” you swore. Staring up at him, you didn’t want to be the reason for the light of adventure to leave his eyes, but you couldn’t help one final admonishment. “Be safe, please. I love you.”_

_Jofur kissed your forehead. “I love you, too, Mjoll.” He whistled as he walked down the street, turning just before he went round the corner to give you a wave and a rakish smile. You smiled your best as you returned the gesture, but you did not feel as serene as Jofur about his upcoming journey._

_When you returned to your home and the tasks of the day, you felt a little cheered at the thought that Fíli would be home tomorrow. Perhaps he would kiss you again, you thought, blushing as your hand went to the small pendant he had made for you; it was already becoming an unconscious habit._

[1] Precious one


	5. Chapter 5

### Pt 5

When you woke up, blinking blearily, Fíli was there. For a moment, you wrinkled your forehead, staring at him.

“I’m sorry!” he cried out. Slowly, you reached your hand towards him, poking his knee. _Oh… solid_. You blinked.

“You’re really not dead,” you whispered. Fíli shook his head, catching your hand and bringing it up to his face.

“See? Nice and warm,” he joked, giving you a dimpled smile. You frowned. Pulling your hand back beneath your blanket, you stared at him in silence for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry, your majesty, I shouldn’t have attacked you.” Fíli winced. Rubbing his jaw lightly – it had bruised up beneath the golden beard, you noticed – he shot you a wry glance.

“General opinion is that I deserved it,” he informed you. You shrugged.

“So you did. Doesn’t mean I should have done it either way,” you said, sitting up and wrapping your arms around your legs.

“I’ll forget about it if you forget about my idiocy in Laketown?” Fíli asked, staring anywhere but you; his cheeks glowed.

“You attacked me!” you cried out.

“I didn’t mean to!” he shouted back, still not looking at you.

“Fíli, look at me!” you demanded. He shook his head. “I’ll accept your apology if you look at me and tell me why _you_ would do such a thing… and to _me_ of all people!”

“Can’t,” he began, but you interrupted him.

“What?!” you cried, “You just said you were sorry for it! Just tell me _why._ ”

“I am!” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks remained a vivid crimson. “But I can’t… _look_ at you…” You simply gaped at him. Fíli sighed. Pulling the blanket from the nearest bedroll, he thrust it towards you. “Put it on.” Frowning at the command, you slung the blanket around your shoulders. Fíli turned. Then he groaned. “Maker…”

“What?!” you sneered, “I put it on!” It was Dwalin’s; a comforting smell. Fíli gestured at you, though words seemed to escape him.

“Mjoll…” he moaned. Looking down, you finally realised what he was staring at; your undershirt had come untied in the night, and the neckline was the farthest thing from snug around your throat, allowing Fíli a neatly framed view of your chest, one nipple playing peek-a-boo with the cloth. Sorting out the cord proved impossible – one end had disappeared into the fabric entirely. Blushing on par with Fíli, you resituated Dwalin’s blanket. Falling back onto his elbows, Fíli scowled at you. “You can’t blame me for looking that time!” he laughed. For a moment, you simply stared at him, but then your own laughter mingled with his.

“At least you enjoyed the show,” you smirked, nodding towards him. Fíli had the grace to blush, but shifting his legs did little to conceal his obvious desire.

“I’m not ashamed,” he claimed, though his cheeks were still flaming.

“Why are you here, Prince Fíli?” you sighed, ignoring the way he flinched.

“I wanted to apologise, again,” he murmured, “and I promise it’ll never happen again.” You studied him silently.

“I accept your apology, Prince Fíli,” you replied, suddenly remembering the way he’d kissed you yesterday. “If you accept mine for… err… yesterday.” Your cheeks matched his, you were sure, hiding behind your hair.

“Deal,” he grinned. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “I have a present for you!” You looked up, catching him pulling your necklace out of one of his pockets. “I fixed it for you,” he murmured, blushing again as he held out the small piece of jewellery. “If you’ll accept it. I know I told you it wasn’t a promise when I gave it to you the first time… but it was.” He was talking to his fists; it was oddly endearing. “I was an idiot; well, certain recent events point to my still being somewhat moronic,” he threw you an amused glance, “but I just… Mahal, Mjoll, I love you, I’ve always bloody loved you… will you say something!?” he finally cried out, exasperated, as he dumped the necklace in your lap. Your heart was racing. Picking up the chain, you held it out for him to take. Fíli’s face fell.

“You did it wrong,” you croaked.

“No, I promise, I fixed it!” His hands closed around yours, trapping the necklace in your fist. “Please, keep it. Even if you… It’s always belonged to you.” he murmured, looking down at his boots.

“You did it wrong, Fíli,” you whispered, letting go of your blanket and rising up on your knees. “You’re supposed to give tokens of love with a kiss, it’s tradition,” you murmured, leaning in to peck his cheek. Fíli’s hand tightened around yours, but then his free hand came up to tangle in your white hair – you had a wild moment of fearing that your hair looked like a bird’s nest, but he didn’t seem to care – and then Fíli was kissing you. His lips were soft, but also hard in a way that spoke of longing; it was better than your last kiss – and miles better than the first time he’d given you this gift – and you never wanted it to end. The braids in his moustache tickled across your skin, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he laid claim to every last thought in your head. Then it was your turn, gripping his golden braids tightly, leaning into him until he fell back onto one elbow with a light moan. You followed, kissing him lazily as your knees moved to either side of his hips.

“Mjoll…” Fíli groaned beneath you, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other one moving down your back to pull you closer. With a light mewl of protest, you followed him down until he lay flat. Fíli cursed. You smirked into his mouth, rolling your hips forwards. “Mahal!” Fíli’s free hand moved down to clench around your arse-cheek as he pulled your mouth back to his for increasingly frenzied kisses. Drawing back, you smirked down at him, panting lightly as you tried to pretend to be unaffected – a largely unsuccessful endeavour. Fíli’s breathing was equally laboured, his eyes following your every move as you leaned back to pick up your pendant, making him hiss when your centre rubbed across what you could tell was a sizable tent in his breeches. Dangling the pendant above his face, you raised your brows in challenge. Fíli growled. Tugging the chain from your hands, he surged upright, only to hide his groan in your shoulder when the motion brought you into glorious contact once more. Almost without conscious command your hands tangled in his curls once more, drawing his mouth back to yours by tugging on his braids. You felt the light weight of the necklace falling into place. Fíli pulled back slightly, looking down. “Mahal,” he rasped, staring raptly. You moved, Fíli’s hands falling down to wrap around your hips. “Mjoll, please!”

“Better,” you whispered, pushing on his chest until he laid flat once more. Giving him one last lingering kiss, you scrambled off him, turning around to find your tunic. Behind you, Fíli groaned, and you heard the distinct sound of his head hitting the floor when you bent over to tie your boots.

“You’re evil, you know that? Pure Evil.” You rather liked the way his voice changed with lust, you thought, looking back over your shoulder with a small chuckle.

“I never said otherwise,” you pointed out, winking at him, “besides, you still owe me some explanations, princeling, I’m not just going to forget the past five years of your behaviour because you apologised.” First, however, your stomach called loudly for sustenance; even if all you had were rations of cram and salted pork from Laketown, it was still food.

“It’s a short explanation,” Fíli muttered when he caught up. You waited silently. “I saw you, five years ago, saying goodbye to Jofur.” He sighed deeply. You turned your head, staring confusedly at him. “Only I didn’t know it was your _brother_ ,” Fíli mumbled, “I just thought…. You told him you loved him, and I…”

“You…” you felt lost for words. “Utter _moron_.” Striding away from Prince Idiot, who followed in rueful silence, you managed to scrounge up some cram and salty pork; it was not very palatable, but at least there was water to wash it down and remove the taste of salt from your mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

### Pt 6

“Finally awake, Mjoll?” Kíli greeted with a wide smile when you entered the Treasury. You scowled at him. _Kíli_ had known about Jofur, so how in the name of Durin had he managed never to tell Fíli? “Did Fee talk to you?” he asked, ignoring your dark expression.

“Your brother is a moron, and I’m left to wonder how _none_ of you ever mentioned Jofur to him in the five years since he broke up with me,” you hissed.

“Well,” Kíli hesitated, “he kinda demanded we didn’t talk about things to do with you… Sorry!” Kíli moved away, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, “Look, Fíli’s been in love with you forever; honestly I thought he’d asked to court you and you’d said no for some unfathomable reason, because we’d all noticed the way you used to blush when he smiled at you.” You groaned.

“What do you mean _‘everyone’_?” you hissed, gesturing at the Company scattered among the gold.

“Well…” Kíli blushed, “I _think_ the first time I heard Amad say ‘ _When Fíli marries Mjoll_ ’ was… Fee was maybe fifty?” You stared. Spinning on your heel, you stalked over to where Fíli was talking to Balin, grabbing his hand and nodding an excuse at your uncle before dragging him off without a word.

 

* * *

 

“Err, Mjoll?” Fíli asked, when you’d tugged him along several corridors. “Where are we going? And why?”

“I want answers,” you demanded, throwing open a door and dragging him into a small sitting room area you’d accidentally discovered when you couldn’t lie still for the thoughts in your head and had gone wandering instead, Dwalin following you like a silent shadow as you roamed the hallways. You’d spent a night on this couch, sharing the silence.

“I already told you, I didn’t know it was your brother; I always thought he was dead!” Fíli cried out.

“He is… now. The caravan was never heard from after it passed through Gondor,” you muttered, drawing him down beside you. You had cried about it, even if your rational side told you that you had barely known Jofur as an adult; he was still your blood, the only blood you had left in the world. Fíli made a sympathetic sound, but he didn’t put his arm around you, which you appreciated; it would have felt a little empty.

“I’m sorry.” You leaned back against the sofa, looking at him.

“What do you want with me, Fíli?” you mumbled at long last, shaking your head.

“Right now?” he asked. “Or in general?”

“Both?” you chuckled wanly.

“I want… I want to forget that I spent five years being angry with you for making me think I was a fling to you. I want to forget that I failed to tell you I loved you when I gave you that necklace; that I didn’t ask you to be mine in a way that couldn’t be misunderstood. I want you…” he trailed off, but you noticed the way his eyes flicked down to your chest, following the chain between your breasts. “Mjoll, I want to court you, I want to make you my wife.” You took his hand.

“I’m… Fíli, I spent five years thinking you were simply toying with me, waiting for the day you’d introduce whomever had taken my place in your heart…” You closed your eyes, “and I loved you anyway.” Fíli gasped, tugging on your hand.

“You love me?” he whispered. For a moment, you were frightened by the strength of the emotion you saw in his eyes.

“I love you, you utter moron,” you whispered, smiling at him. This time, he kissed you softly, like you were fragile and it was lovely and sweet… and so not enough to dull the bite of the hunger he had awoken in you earlier.

“I love you too,” he whispered, sealing the words inside your mouth with another kiss. Your hands travelled up his chest, over his shoulders and into his thick hair. Fíli groaned, and suddenly you were on your back on the sofa and he was spread out along the length of you, warm lips caressing yours languidly. He pulled back slightly, smirking down at your disgruntled expression. “Is that a yes?” he asked, tracing your upper lip with his tongue.

“Yes to what?” you retorted, using one of Dwalin’s practised moves to flip him off you and onto the floor, straddling him easily. Fíli chuckled, but he did not protest, simply smiling up at you.

“Will you allow me to court you?” he replied, lifting a hand to trace the curve of your face with his fingertips, tugging on a strand of your white hair. You bent to kiss him gently, lingering at the touch of his lips.

“Yes…” you murmured, trading small kisses and feeling Fíli’s smile beneath your lips, “my moron Prince.” When he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, you kissed him again.

“What does that make you… my Princess-to-be?” he teased, stroking your back as his tongue played with yours. You sighed into his mouth.

“Yours,” you whispered. Fíli’s arms tightened around you.

“Mjoll…” he groaned into your mouth, one hand tangling in your braids.

“We should get back before we’re missed…” you murmured, though you didn’t want to move. Fíli grumbled in protest.

“Let me braid your hair?” he asked, tugging on one long lock. Nodding, you pulled back, smiling as you felt his deft fingers running through your hair.

 

* * *

 

“Congratulations, lassie,” Dwalin rumbled, wrapping a thick arm around your shoulders and pulling you in for a hug.

“Thank you, Adad,” you smiled.

“I see you managed to reconcile with your ladylove,” Kíli teased Fíli beside you, flicking the small braid in your hair. “You ought to make some beads for that braid, though, Amad would say,” he continued, making his brother blush. Dwalin guffawed. You squeezed Fíli’s hand, making him smile at you.

“I will,” he murmured, his moustache braids tickling the back of your hand with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up BotFA!


	7. Chapter 7

“Here,” you said, “I found a scale-reinforced sur-coat that’ll fit you.” You were too far away to _hear_ the battle, and you knew Fíli had come here to find privacy. “It’s Durin-blue, even,” you joked, trying to make him smile. Back there, where you’d been waiting for Dwalin to return from speaking with Thorin, the Company were looking to Fíli to be the one to lead them, to usurp Thorin’s role. It didn’t sit well with any of you, but Fíli had the only right to order you into the battle, and he knew it, you could see the way it tore at his heart to even consider such an act - it would be seen as a betrayal by the Uncle who had raised him, even if Thorin did not currently resemble the stern but paternal Dwarf you remembered from Ered Luin.

“Uncle doesn’t want us to fight,” Fíli sighed. You held up the coat anyway. Whatever he decided to do, you would help him do it, but you wanted him to wear proper armour, even if nothing changed.

“We both hope for a change there, Fíli,” you sighed, sharing a look with him in the dusty mirror. Fíli’s lips twitched, but he did not reply. “And when it comes, there will be no time to think about more protection than what we’re already wearing, I wager.”

“How do you do it, **shuthrathurûna **[1]****?” he asked, but he let you slide the coat up his arms, fastening the ties in front as you straightened the seams. Next up the chainmail, and then the pauldrons you’d found in an old armoury.

“Do what?” you hummed, tightening buckles here and there.

“Keep hoping?” Moving to stand beside him, you tugged playfully on one of the braids in his moustache. “Uncle is…” he trailed off, shoulders slumped.

“Thorin will see reason, Fíli...” Or Fíli would do what had to be done and leave him inside Erebor, even if that wouldn’t have the same effect on morale, you knew.  “You came back from the dead… how can I lose hope now?” you whispered, turning his face to look at him, smoothing your thumb over the line between his brows. “We will get through this, **kudzaduz **[2]**** ,” you murmured, his old nickname falling from your lips.

“Have you found better armour for yourself, too?” he asked, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. You kissed him. Erebor’s armouries boasted gear of a quality you had only dreamt of in Ered Luin, and you’d managed to find a set of well-fitting mail for yourself, including armguards and shin-guards, everything stamped with what Dwalin recognised as the sigil of the Royal Guard.

“What kind of warrior would I be if I hadn’t,” you teased, trying to coax a smile onto his face as you twirled in your newly acquired armour. You didn’t quite manage, but he gave you another kiss for the effort. Holding out one of the armoured vambraces that matched the pauldrons you’d found, you waited for Fíli to hold out his arm.

“Please, Mjoll,” he said, grabbing your hand instead of the finely worked steel and boiled leather, “be careful when the fighting starts.” Taking the armguard from you, he tied it easily, sliding on the gloves you had left on the table beside him.

“You, too,” you replied, buckling the belt around his middle, attaching the sword of some long-dead general to it – it wasn’t _his_ swords, of course, but it was a _good_ sword, nonetheless. “I don’t want to think you dead again… I couldn’t bear it, Fee, I… I love you.” Making a distressed sound deep in his throat, Fíli kissed you, the taste of his despair lingering on your lips and for a moment you wished you had more time, clutching him tightly and wishing for the time to explore his body at leisure, seeking the closeness you both desired.

“Mjoll,” he murmured, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, “ **maralmizu **[3]****.” You tangled your hands in his hair, beyond caring if you messed up the braids you’d sorted that morning, pulling him close as you felt a sense of desperation to make sure you both remembered this moment as something more than agonizing dread for your imminent future. Fíli’s hands were roaming your back, reaching down to cup your arse through your thick trousers even if the intervening layers of armour and mail made it difficult to feel. The pulse in his neck beat a hard tattoo against the heel of your palm, as you both tried to forget – for a moment – that this was a battle unlike any you’d seen before. This was war.

“Fíli…” you moaned lightly, nipping at his lips. “We shouldn’t.” You kept kissing him nonetheless, making Fíli chuckle breathlessly into your mouth.

“No, not now,” he agreed, but you were pleased by the husky quality of his voice. Tugging on the small braid he’d made in your hair, decorated with a bead he had found in the Royal Palace, he gave you his dimpled smile. “Later, however, I’m locking us up somewhere for a few days of nothing but us.” With a final kiss, he set your new helmet on your head, ensuring that it fit properly. Being an armoursmith yourself, you’d already done so, of course, but you let him do it without comment; he had accepted your superfluous help with his armour, you would do the same, give him that same sense of reassurance you had felt just knowing that he was properly armed and protected.

“I’d like that,” you smiled, darting in for a quick kiss before you returned to the rest of the Company. Fíli’s fingers were tight around yours, squeezing gently as you walked through the dusty hallways.

 

“Adad!” you cried, staring at Dwalin, who had never looked so defeated. Letting go of Fíli, you flew to him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“He’s not… he’s not Thorin, Mjoll,” Dwalin whispered in your ear, leaning into your touch as though he needed the support to remain standing. You felt scared; Dwalin was always the strong one, something that could rattle him _this_ badly… you hardly dared ask. “He threatened to _kill_ me.” You heard the gasps of the rest of the Company behind you, but you focussed only on the way Dwalin was trembling in your arms. Vaguely, you registered the way Balin stepped up to hold him from behind, Fíli and Kíli joining in from either side until Dwalin was the centre of a full Company hug.

 

“Everyone,” Fili spoke calmly, but you knew how much it cost him to say it, “get ready.” You found his hand, squeezing it with your own. “We are going to war.”

The Company cheered, though no one felt joyous.

Behind you, footsteps sounded; slow and tired.

You turned, interrupting the cheer with the sound of your gasp as you stared towards the doorway that led to the interior of Erebor.

 

“Thorin!”

 

 

 

[1] Tiny cloud lady – cutesy nickname

[2] Tiny gold – cutesy nickname

[3] The serious form of “I love you” which makes it a dependable fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BotFA next :o I do wonder what will happen...


	8. Ravenhill

You could see the wooden signalling devices atop the tower from across the river.

“Where is he?!” Thorin growled, cutting the head off the final orc in your path.

“It looks deserted,” Kíli remarked, taking the words right out of your mouth. Fíli’s fingers found yours, squeezing gently.

“Maybe he fled?” you offered half-heartedly, returning Fíli’s silent offer of comfort. Already, the blade of your axe had seen more blood than ever before, running thick and black along the sharp edge.

“I’d love to think so, Mjoll,” Kíli agreed, nodding, “but…” Your lips thinned into a grim smile; you didn’t believe so either.

“He must be here!” Thorin exclaimed.

“We’ve got company!” Dwalin growled, staring across the frozen landscape.

“Fíli, Kíli,” Thorin nodded towards the tower, “go scout it out, report back if you see _anything_ , you got me?”

“Goblins,” Dwalin spat, “but no more than a hundred.” You followed his eyes, catching sight of – _were some of the Goblins riding other Goblins?_ – the oncoming force. You smiled grimly, getting better hold of your double-bladed war axe, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship Dwalin had unearthed for you; his grandmother’s, he’d said, looking wistful.

“We’ll take care of them easily; you three, go!” Thorin urged you. With a light push, he sent Kíli off onto the ice, taking up his familiar stance with Dwalin; you’d seen them dance like that a million times, though never had they looked so deadly. Fíli tugged on your arm, making you turn around once more.

“Be careful, adad,” you whispered, following the two princes across the frozen river. Behind you, you heard them bellow out a war-cry.

 

* * *

 

You moved slowly, quietly, through the abandoned ruins of the tower. Fíli in front and Kíli bringing up the rear, your eyes and ears peeled for anything out of the ordinary. You could hear wind howling through stone; an eerie, mournful sound that cut through your bones with dread. Otherwise, there was only the sound of your own boots on the stone, the slight huffs of breath from your companions and the constant thump-thump of your heart beating.

“I don’t like this,” you whispered, “too easy to design an ambush in this warren of tunnels.” Ahead of you, Fíli nodded, while Kíli’s hand found yours where it rested on your weapon, squeezing gently.

Something made a different noise up ahead.

“You keep searching the lower level,” Fíli whispered, “I’ve got this.”

“No!” you cried, though your voice didn’t rise beyond a whisper. You caught his arm, holding on tightly. “We should stay together.”

“I’m with Mjoll on that,” Kíli added behind you, as you stared imploringly at Fíli; knowing he meant to protect the two of you if he could, “we shouldn’t split up. We’re stronger together, Fee, that’s what you always say.” He tried for levity, though it didn’t quite work. You bit your lip. Staring past Fíli’s shoulder, your eyes widened. He pushed past you with a low oath.

“Someone’s coming!” you hissed, lifting your weapon again. With another oath, Fíli shifted Kíli into the middle – the tunnel was too narrow to fight side by side, and you were the better melee fighter.

“From behind us, too,” he muttered darkly, and you felt your heart sink at the words even as you readied yourself to meet the smallish orcs rushing at you.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where is that orc filth?” Dwalin grumbled, kicking a decapitated head away when it failed to answer. Thorin stared towards to tower, anxious to catch sight of pale hair – Mjoll or Fíli would be easiest to spot through the holes in the structure – and feeling his heart sink when he saw neither young dwarf.

“I don’t know –” he began, but was interrupted by Dwalin sound of surprise, making him turn around swiftly, raising his sword in preparation.

“Thorin!” Bilbo wheezed, out of breath from running.

“Bilbo!” Thorin exclaimed, staring in wonder. “How did you…”

“You have to leave here!” Bilbo cried, waving away their questioning expressions. “Now!” he urged, trying to drag Dwalin off by the arm. “Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded. There’ll be no way out.” The warrior did not move, casting a desperate glance back at the crumbling tower.

“We are so close! That orc scum is in there. I say we push on.” Dwalin growled, staring at the Hobbit that had appeared out of nowhere. Bilbo shook his head.

“No, Dwalin!” Thorin retorted, catching his arm when the warrior moved towards the river. The Hobbit shivered. “That’s what he wants, Dwal,” Thorin murmured, “he wants to draw us in…” Dwalin groaned, but he did not shake off Thorin’s hand. “It’s a trap!”

“And we sent our _children_ right into it,” Dwalin whimpered, staring at the tower.

“We _will_ find them,” Thorin swore, “we’ll call them back; there’s yet time to leave.” Dwalin nodded, hefting his axe once more.

“Live to fight another day, eh, Thor,” he rumbled, though the joke did not elicit more than a pale smile, before striding off with determination.

“Let’s go.” Thorin said. “We’ll all live to fight another day.”

 

* * *

 

 

They kept coming; you were trapped, but the three of you were holding your own. Kíli had long-since run out of arrows, but you were managing to retreat slowly but surely, Fíli again in the lead and you bringing up the rear, trying to get out of the tower.

Or so you thought.

Your careful plan crumbled – literally – between one step and the next, the floor giving way beneath you. The fall was no more than the height of two dwarrow, you knew, lying on the broken bricks and staring dumbly at the ceiling a floor above you, but it had felt like you fell forever, weightless until the merciless impact with the hard stones beneath you. You blinked. Beside you, someone groaned; you thought it was Kíli.

“Mjoll!” Fíli exclaimed, his worried face appearing in your line of vision, blood running in a trail from the split in his eyebrow and down to his chin. Vaguely you heard your adad’s voice bellowing; familiar sound, though not usually tinged with fear.

“Fíli…” you smiled, but movement behind him made you cry out, using your training to flip him, staring down at his confused expression for one infinite moment before the impact registered. With a gasp, the air left your lungs. Falling forward, landing heavily on Fíli’s stained armour, you vaguely heard a sound that could only be called Anger, but you were too busy trying to gasp air back into your chest to care. Fíli’s blue eyes were wide and frightened as he stared at you, his hand coming up to cup your face.

“Mjoll?” he whispered, but you didn’t have the energy to nod. “Mjoll!” he repeated, shaking you lightly. You tried to smile at him; you had been winded, yes, but you thought you’d be fine. “Mjoll!” Fíli cried. You closed your eyes, needing a brief rest before you thought about getting up.

 

* * *

 

Dwalin and Thorin barely escaped a crushing death when the ceiling caved in on top of them, but it was the next image that would be seared into their brains; the three younger dwarrow fell with the ceiling, but each had begone moving, getting over the shock of the impact. Dwalin cried out a warning, his face had been turned towards the ceiling, while Thorin was busy scrambling across the broken rocks to try to get to Kíli, whose leg was pinned beneath some rubble. The warning made no difference; the Orc scum – pale and vicious – still threw his spear, laughing down at them. Dwalin thought he screamed, his feet instantly moving, but he knew he’d be too late to make a difference, watching Mjoll execute a flawless wrestle… and the giant spear that embedded itself in her back. He heard Fíli’s cries, was vaguely aware of his own bellowed fury, but it was lost in the haze of red that enveloped his vision.

“Dwalin!” Thorin yelled, but that was of no concern to him, charging off in a random direction, bent on finding the fiend that dared take his daughter away from him – dared spill _her_ blood.

 

* * *

 

“Mjoll…” Fíli choked on her name once more, watching her eyes roll back into her skull, her body slumping on top of him. “Mjoll, no, please, please,” he begged, brushing her hair away from her face. She did not respond.

“Fíli!” Thorin barked. “Get up!” Fíli didn’t want to, as though getting up would make it real, would make it true. _She’s not breathing_ , he panicked, staring at Uncle Thorin’s face, set in hard lines of anger. “Fíli!” he repeated, “You must get up; get out of here!”

 _No_.

Shaking his head, Fíli slowly moved out from underneath her body, doing his best not to think about it, lifting her into his arms. The spear in her back moved slightly, the sound of metal scraping against bone making him wince. Orcrist’s perfect curve arced in front of his face, slicing through the shaft of the ugly-looking weapon with ease. He looked up at Thorin, and suddenly the sounds of the world returned to him, Kíli’s pained groans sounding from his left.

“No.” he repeated. “I’m not leaving.” Pulling the head of the spear out of her, Fíli threw it with all his might at the far wall. Mjoll did not move.

“Fíli.” Thorin seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say, but Fíli was not in the mood to listen.

“They killed her, Uncle,” he whispered. Putting her down beside the wall, lying on her side just like she preferred to sleep, Fíli looked up at his uncle’s blue eyes, “I can’t…”

“I know,” Thorin replied, and something in his eyes told Fíli that he _did_ know, that Uncle understood _precisely_ how much he needed vengeance _._ “and I’m asking you to leave here anyway.” Feeling Thorin’s gauntleted hand wrap around the back of his skull, Fíli obeyed the pressure, knocking his forehead against Thorin’s.

“I can’t,” he admitted. “I need…”

“I know,” Thorin sighed, “odds are Dwalin’s not going to make it out of here; can’t you understand that I don’t want to bury you, too?” Fíli nodded, but he couldn’t change his mind.

“I’ll stay with her, Fee,” Kíli whispered, his face pale. For the first time, Fíli registered the terrible angle of Kíli’s lower leg; legs weren’t meant to look like that. He felt faint. Grasping the sword that had fallen beside him, he nodded once. Thorin sighed. Working together, they managed to shift Kíli over to the wall, too, letting him sit against the damp stones next to Mjoll.

“This is going to hurt,” Thorin warned, though the words were drowned out by Kíli’s scream echoing off the stone as he pulled the broken bones back in place. Kíli slumped against the wall, his face bloodless and clammy-looking.

“I’m okay,” he gasped, though none of them believed the obvious lie.

“I’m going to _kill_ Azog,” Fíli swore in a low voice. He did not look to see if Thorin followed, did not throw one last glance back at Mjoll’s pale hair or Kíli’s pained face, he simply walked away, the heavy threads of iron-soled boots on stone the only sound echoing through the tower after his low oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER!


	9. Chapter 9

You wheezed, blinking your eyes open with a groan. Your back hurt, and for a few long moments that fact filled your whole mind, but then the sound of a gasp cut through the fog, and you moved in slight increments, trying not to do something that would make anything _worse_ , until you had turned your face enough that you could see Kíli, tears streaming down his face.

“Whazz-rong?” you slurred, still trying to master breathing around the pain. You couldn’t breathe too deeply, which meant you’d probably broken a rib or two, your rational mind told you. Kíli shook his head for a moment, still staring at you with those fat tears running down his face. Fear pierced you, and suddenly you were sitting upright, staring at him. “Fíli?” you asked, and then the pain of the abrupt movement hit, making you whimper. Your back felt like one giant bruise, and whatever you’d done to crack your rib only made it worse. The last thing you remembered was watching a giant Orc standing in the tunnel you had been trying to escape, his spear aimed at Fíli’s unprotected head.

“Fee’s fine,” Kíli croaked, still looking dazed. You began to worry if he had suffered a concussion in the fall. “You… Mjoll, he thinks you _died_.” _Oh_. That was… not good. You winced, the involuntary move sending licks of fire along your back when your armour – oddly dented – pressed firmly into your skin. _Oh, yeah_ , you thought, as realisation awoke, _I tried to save Fíli by rolling on top of him_. Turning your head slowly, relieved that it didn’t seem to make your back worse, you looked around, but it was only Kíli and you in the tunnel.

“Where?” you asked, your heart beginning to race again as Kíli’s expression of cautious joy melted into deep-seated worry.

“Azog,” he whispered, raising his hand to point weakly towards the ceiling, drawing your attention to the distant sound of battle.

“No,” you moaned, beginning to struggle to stand. “We have to…help…them.” Wheezing badly enough that you knew you’d be little use in a pitched battle, you swayed lightly on your feet, feeling completely exhausted by the small amound of movement. Kíli hadn’t moved from his seated position by the wall, shaking his head.

“We can’t, Mjoll,” he whispered, despondent. You raised his head with one gloved hand, grateful that he was tall enough that it didn’t require bending over.

“Hey,” you whispered, “we _can_ do it, Kee. We must. I can’t…” you swallowed hard, “I can’t lose him again, Kee, I can’t!” Slowly, Kíli nodded, but then his face fell.

“My leg’s broken,” he admitted sheepishly, “Uncle Thorin set it before he followed Fee, but I can’t walk on it.” Shuffling around, turning your aching body in a semi-circle, you looked around you. A hefty shaft from a spear caught your eye, carelessly discarded near the wall. You pointed at it.

“Can you use that as a crutch?” It wasn’t ideal, but if his leg was splinted, he might be able to hobble along. It wasn’t like you were going to win any contests of speed, either, you knew, feeling the wetness of your blood soaking into the waistband of your breeches. The wound didn’t feel _too_ bad, but you knew that fighting would be nigh impossible for you, afraid of tearing the hole larger if you attempted to twist your body. And yet, you couldn’t remain where Fíli had left you, couldn’t bear to wait for news – good or ill – to find you, couldn’t bear to let him suffer as you had suffered for even a second longer than he had to.

“Maybe. We got anything to use for splints?” Kíli asked, making you shuffle over to the spear, decide that picking it up might make you faint, and kick the wooden shaft back towards him. Turning slowly, you pointed at a couple of orc corpses not too far away that had tumbled through the floor along with you, Kíli’s own arrows sticking out of their bodies. He grimaced. Keeping the staff with him, he moved slowly across the floor, dragging himself in a sitting position as he tried not to jostle his leg too badly. Pulling a knife from your belt, you began sawing blindly at your undershirt, ending up with several ragged strips of cloth. Kíli’s shirt got the same treatment, though he wasn’t hampered by being unable to lift his arms, so his strips of cloth were cut a bit neater. You shivered slightly, feeling the cool metal of your mail shirt kiss your skin. You both ignored the bloody splotches that stained some of the strips, Kíli tying the arrows around his leg at the knee and sticking the ends into his boot to make a makeshift splint. You wanted to offer to help him get to his feet, but the lack of pain-free motion convinced you it was a bad plan. Kíli didn’t even look at you for help, struggling to his feet with the help of the wall and breathing heavily when he finally managed. He gave you a ghost of a smile.

“The cripples to the rescue,” you muttered darkly, picking up your axe simply to feel it in your hands, feeling better for having a weapon, even if its weight – normally not something you even thought about – made you want to curse at the strain it put on your injured muscles. Wincing with each step, you made your way back to Kíli, who gave you an encouraging nod as you set off down the tunnel.

 

* * *

 

Instead of scaling the tower, suddenly you found yourself blinking against the sunlight that seemed to pierce the clouds that had hung low and ominous over you all day, bringing with it the brilliant colours of sunrise. You stared. Before you was a wide river, its ice thick enough for an armoured orc to walk on. You knew this, because you could see Thorin facing off with Azog on the uneven surface, circling each other as he avoided the heavy weapon continuously swung at him, looking for an opening to retaliate with Orcrist. Your attention, however, was drawn to the bank, where the late afternoon rays glinted off familiar hair, the dwarf locked in combat with a different Orc, just as hideous as Azog and equally vicious. You shuddered. Beside you, Kíli swayed. Further off, you spotted Dwalin fighting off a pack of Orcs on his own, trying to get to either Thorin or Fíli, you couldn’t tell, your heart in your throat as you watched Fíli dodge agilely. When the orc’s weapon smashed into his arm, you couldn’t hold back your wheezed scream, Kíli’s fervent curse loud in your ear. A slight thump told you he’d sat down on the ground, but the whistle of the arrow brought you out of your horrified reverie, your head snapping to see him sitting with his bow drawn and desperation shining in his face, looking even more wan than he had before. A pained roar brought your head sharply around once more, in time to watch the orc stagger, Kíli’s arrow embedded in the front of its shoulder.

Fíli used its distraction to his advantage, shoving himself underneath the orc’s defences and shoving his sword into its gut. The orc collapsed at once. You couldn’t help but cheer when Fíli staggered to his knees, cutting off the orc’s head with a snarl.

Turning back to Thorin, your cheer turned into a horrified gasp, watching as the spike of metal seemed to burst up through his foot like a flower in spring, his pained bellow ringing out across the ice.

“Thorin!” Dwalin bellowed, decapitating his last adversary almost without looking. You wanted to move, to help, but your walk through the tunnels had taken all the energy you possessed, forcing you to watch as the blade disappeared beneath the ice once more, only to allow Azog to reappear, snarling furiously at Thorin who was still kneeling on the ice. Kíli choked on a breath beside you, his voice rasping out an almost silent ‘Uncle…’ that no one but you could hear.

“Shoot him.” Grabbing Kíli’s shoulder, you nodded towards his boot, breaking him free of the stupor. Your own boots held throwing axes, but the distance was too great for either accuracy or power; Kíli’s bow had far greater reach. “Shoot, Kíli!” you commanded in a sharp gasp, watching Dwalin and Fíli both make their way onto the ice, cautious of the broken floes. Thorin raised Orcrist, blocking Azog’s weapon.

Later, you wouldn’t remember exactly what had happened, seeing Thorin beneath the jagged spike of metal that was Azog’s arm, and hearing a bloodcurdling scream of rage, but the image before you didn’t change as you slowly sank to your knees, one hand clasping Kíli’s with so much force you wondered if you’d be able to let go.

 

* * *

 

On the ice, Fíli’s breath showed as giant puffs of air, staring down at the decapitated head of his enemy. Still trapped beneath the corpse, Thorin groaned, but Fíli had no thought for helping him free of the body. He had thought killing the reason for _her_ death would make some sort of difference in the way his chest constricted, but as he stared at the dead eyes, still vaguely surprised, he felt nothing but despair. The emptiness of all the years stretching before him seemed too vast to even think of conquering. For a moment, he wished he’d fallen with her, that _he_ had seen the spear as she had; that was the worst part, knowing she had _died_ to keep him safe, keep him alive. He spat at the head, kicking it towards the bank with a curse and raised his head to look for his brother, wondering how Kíli had managed to make it out of the tunnels with a badly broken leg.

Fíli stared.

Her helm was gone, and part of her hair undone, the last rays of sunlight catching on the white strands, making them glitter like the snow around her. Her jade eyes sparkled, even at this distance, and Fíli was running before he had decided to do so, his sword clattering against the ice as he abandoned it carelessly. Vision blurry, he ignored the aches and pains of his injuries, his lungs working like the bellows in the Great Forge when he finally reached her.

“Mjoll…” he whispered, and he had never seen anything more beautiful than her smile, feeling like he could _breathe_ again.

 

* * *

 

“Fíli…” you whispered, halfway worried that your smile would split your face as he reached for your face with a tembling hand, tugging his gauntlet off with his teeth and a low curse. Catching his hand, you brought it up to cup your cheek, pressing a soft kiss against the heel of his palm. Fíli groaned and suddenly you were in his arms, his mouth pressed firmly gainst yours as he stole your breath with his kisses. His hands roamed your back, but you swallowed his sound of protest when he felt the break in your armour, beyond caring about injuries at the moment. Fíli’s hands settled on your hips, pulling you close as he returned your fervour with desperation. Your face was wet, when you parted, resting your forehead against Fíli’s, which made you realise his eyes were spilling over with tears. You tried to hide your wince, reaching for his face, but Fíli caught your hand, pushing it back down as he studied you with a frown.

“I’m… Mahal, Mjoll, you’re… you’re here, and alive, and, and,” he babbled, kissing you again to shut himself up, his fingers moving from your waist to tangle in your hair as he tugged your lips back to his. “How hurt are you, amrâlimê?” he murmured, when he had to let you go to breathe.

“Rib cracked,” you admitted, “and I think my back might be a walking bruise. Breathing is… not easy,” you finally admitted, though you felt that lack of air was a perfectly fine trade-off if he would hold you forever and ever, looking at you with those blue-green eyes you loved so much. Fíli frowned.

“We need to get you to a healer,” he said decisively, though he looked anxious as he tried to step back from you, almost instantly returning to kiss you softly. “I love you.” Tears once more sprang to his eyes, but you knew if was simple relief, pulling him close and enjoying the embrace more than you had the wherewithal to describe, feeling fatigue sneak up on you like it had studied with Nori.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, THE END IS HERE!

You didn’t remember getting back to Erebor, but looking at the green stone walls around you meant you could be nowhere else. You blinked. Above you, the ceiling had been carved with interlocking knots of stonework – pleasing to the eyes. Taking stock of yourself, you felt surprised by the lack of pain. Breathing deeply, you smiled.

Someone had removed your armour, dressing you in a thin shift that smelled clean – you suspected Dori, who had been lamenting the lack of clean clothes before you all seemed to care little for anything but the Treasure. Heavy furs – these smelled a little dusty – kept you warm, and you felt a moment of simple pleasure wiggling your toes into the softness. You could hardly remember feeling this comfortable, turning onto your stomach and burying your face in the soft fur.

Turning your head, you expelled the air from your lungs with a whoosh, staring. Fíli was slumped in a chair by your bedside, his hair gleaming a dull gold in the light of the torch. He was fast asleep, and for a while you simply enjoyed studying him, feeling guilty for the heavy bags beneath his eyes; evidence of his worry. Something in him, however, must have noted your change of breathing. Blinking blearily, those blue-green eyes focused slowly, Fíli’s mouth falling open on a slight gasp of air. You smiled.

“You look tired,” you whispered, moving your hand to reach for him, needing him to be real – part of you still wasn’t convinced this was no fever-dream; it would be just like you to conjure up Azog’s defeat.

Fíli caught your hand, pressing it against his face as he fell to his knees beside the low cot. “Mjoll,” he whispered, his fingers shaking as he reached out to touch your cheek. Your smile widened. Fíli’s eyes shimmered wetly. “You’re awake, amrâlimê,” he continued hoarsely.

Cupping his cheek, you pulled him closer, curling your fingers into those golden strands. Fíli went willingly, turning his face to press a kiss into your palm before resting his forehead against yours.

“Did you think I would not?” you wondered, frowning. You had not thought your injury too perilous, but Fíli paled.

“The spear broke a few of your ribs,” he admitted, swallowing hard. You felt almost scared to see the tears that trailed down his face. “And… climbing out of the tower,” he gulped, looking guiltier than you had ever seen him, “oh, Maker, Mjoll, I already thought you’d died, and then you were suddenly there!” He was crying now, clutching your hand tightly. “Óin said the rib must have stabbed you in the lung when you walked with Kíli.”

You kissed him, slanting your lips across his and swallowing whatever else he might have said, desperate to wipe the tortured look from his face.

“I feel fine, amrâlimê,” you murmured when you separated slightly. Fíli uttered a wordless cry, surging forward once more to claim your lips, pressing you back against the pillow as he plundered your mouth.

“Truly?” he murmured, caressing your face with one hand and leaning his weight on the other, legs stretching alongside yours. You nodded. You felt good, no aches or agony left in your body. Your only complaint was tiredness, really, but even that was mild and you were sure Fíli felt more tired, his eyes struggling to remain open as he pressed kisses into your skin.

“Sleep, Fíli,” you said, struggling to pull the furs from beneath him. Fíli chuckled, blushing lightly, but complied with your unspoken wish, climbing onto the narrow cot and wrapping his strong arms around your body, carefully not squeezing your chest as he folded himself around your curves. Breathing a sleepy sigh into your hair, you felt him nuzzle closer, surrounding you with warmth and comfort.

“I love you, Mjoll,” were the last words to pass his lips before a light snore filled the room with a pleasant sense of familiarity.

Smiling, you followed him into sleep.

 

Waking up slowly, feeling languid, in Fíli’s arms might be the best thing you knew, you thought drowsily, pressing yourself back against him and enjoying the feel of his arm around you, one hand cupping your breast and making you blush. Fíli pressed himself closer, murmuring unintelligibly into your hair as he squeezed lightly, his interest making itself known easily.

“I’m going to let this slide – this once,” Dwalin’s dry voice said, interrupting your lazy movements. Fíli froze behind you, releasing you immediately.

Sitting up, you sent your best glare in Dwalin’s direction, faltering entirely when you realised how stressed he looked.

“Adad,” you called, reaching for him. Dwalin’s arms wrapped warmly around you, pulling you into a tight hug. Hiding your face in his shoulder, you soaked up the comfort, feeling the way he trembled with relief.

“Sorry, Dwalin,” Fíli said sheepishly. Looking back over your shoulder you caught him rubbing his neck, embarrassed flush still evident in his cheeks.

“How are you feeling, Mjoll?” Dwalin asked, ignoring Fíli entirely. You giggled.

“All is well, Adad,” you promised. “I’m a little hungry,” in truth, you felt positively ravenous, your stomach rumbling loudly. Dwalin chuckled – you both pretended it wasn’t watery at the edges – and set you back on your feet. You shivered; the stone was chilly on your bare feet, and missed the toasty warmth of Fíli’s embrace. The heavy fur blanket landed on your shoulders, falling like a regal cloak all the way to your feet.

“Let me escort my ladylove to breakfast, then,” Fíli said, having found his own boots swiftly, grinning as he swept your legs out from underneath you. With a shriek of laughter, you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a peck on the cheek. Dwalin chuckled behind you, but he made no move to protest, holding the door open silently.

Keeping the blanket around you, Fíli set off; clearly you had slept for days, based on the state of repairs to the large hall that your little room opened onto. The healer’s halls, you realised, remembering Óin lamenting about their state early in your stay in Erebor.

Crossing through the halls, Fíli nodded at several of the wounded who hailed him, but did not stop for introductions. Snuggling into his hold, you found yourself dozing lightly, missing most of the trip entirely.

You returned to yourself when Fíli sat down, keeping you on his lap when you tried to scoot down the bench. Giving up any plan of moving – you were quite happy with your perch after all – you turned your attention to the hearty porridge ladled into the bowl before you, your teeth watering.

It was the best thing you’d ever eaten.

Inhaling your food like you’d been starving, you soon finished the bowl, leaning back against Fíli’s chest with a pleased murmur. Ignoring Dwalin’s scowl – it wasn’t his proper angry expression – you looked around the hall lazily, picking out the familiar forms of the Company with a light smile.

“Where’s Bilbo?” you wondered, having found everyone else – Bofur seemed to be entertaining some stranger, Kíli was clearly playing up hi own heroics to an appreciative audience of Iron Hills soldiers, while Thorin was in deep discussion with Balin and someone who must be Lord Dáin – but seeing no glimpse of the small Hobbit Burglar.

“On his way home,” Fíli replied, sounding apologetic. “Gandalf promised to get him home; Bilbo was sad he didn’t get to stay until you woke up, but he left you a letter of farewell.”

“Mjoll!” Kíli shrieked, suddenly noticing your presence. Throwing himself at you and his brother, he nearly succeeded in toppling you both off the bench, babbling worries and apologies against your shoulder.

“Kíli,” you said, trying to stem the torrent of words, “Kíli. Kíli! KÍLI DURINSON!” Kíli subsided in an instant, sinking back onto the bench; his soft brown eyes were watery, and you immediately felt bad for yelling. “I’m fine, Kee,” you said, gentling your voice and reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I promise.”

“Promise-promise?” he asked, sounding just like when he was a dwarfling. You laughed.

“Promise-promise,” you nodded, opening your arms for a hug.

“Good. Fee was scared,” he replied, looking like he had been the epitome of calm during the whole thing, “like, really scared.” Needling each other was so… normal, it made you laugh, even if you didn’t doubt the veracity of his statement for a minute. Behind you, Fíli’s offended ‘hey!’ was followed by a swift kick to Kíli’s shin that made the younger dwarf scowl. “You’re not allowed to die, Mjoll,” Kíli continued, losing the joking tone entirely, “you have to marry Fee and make me an Uncle.”

“Kíli!” Fíli groaned, hiding his face in your hair. You could feel yourself blushing. Kíli suddenly looked worried, scrambling backwards with a confused look on his sweet face.

“You haven’t _asked_ her?!” he exclaimed, pointing at his brother. “But you- you-”

“Kíli! Shut up!” Fíli shouted back, his arms tightening around you.

“Asked me?” you wondered, craning your neck to look at Fíli who was studiously not looking at you, a fierce blush staining his cheeks. “Fee?” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, turning his face towards you. “Asked me what?”

“Mjoll. **Astu id-sanzigilu kurduwê** ** **[1]****.” Biting his lip, Fíli stared at you, while around you, silence seemed to spread across the hall. In the corner of your eye, you caught Thorin sitting up sharply, Balin’s mouth falling shut mid-sentence. Fíli looked suddenly terrified. You frowned at him, confused; you’d already agreed to be his… hadn’t you? “ **Zabirasakhjami ishhin amê? **[2]**** ”

“ **Kun** ,” you replied gently, leaning in to kiss him. All the tension seemed to bleed out of him at once, clutching you tighter as he laughed into the kiss. Pulling back, you raised an eloquent eyebrow, “Yes, Fíli, yes. Of course, I’ll be your wife, I love you.”

“ **Maralmizu**[3],” he whispered into your mouth, stealing a soft kiss with the promise. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as your returned the kiss with fervour, vaguely aware of Bofur hooting something lewd in the background. One of Fíli’s hands left your back, flicking some rudeness in Bofur’s direction, but then he returned to the task of kissing you breathless.

When you finally separated, Kíli was grinning like a loon and more than one dwarf you didn’t know was cheering loudly. Blushing, you hid your face in Fíli’s shoulder, but lifted your head when he cupped your cheek, returning the gentle look in his eyes with your own.

“My Mjoll,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling widely.

“My Fíli,” you replied, leaning in to press your forehead against his. “Maralmizu.”

 

 

[1] You are the mithril of my heart.

[2] Marry me?

[3] I love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments very welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Do comment with your thoughts!


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